Welcome To Lee's Poetry Page
Oak
I see the blur of light,
I open my eyes and smile
You may pity the oak.
Understanding him is a battle extreme
The story weaves around the sun,
The stars start forming groups to fight
The losers begin to frantically flee.
Patience for the stars is a virtue.
I marvel at the Oak, when it chimes the story
I awaken as my mind returns to me
I make a slow, sweeping motion
Written by L. S. Greger
As I slowly pass the world by.
I rarely feel as though I miss a thing.
I close my eyes and wonder why
The world has lost its sight.
At the only thing that can understand.
"Oak, will you tell me a story?"
Questioning him as I give him my hand.
I just sit with him a while.
Standing there silent and all alone,
Yet I can't help admiring him so.
He can just stand there with patience shown.
Haste for him, one big joke.
Between patience and aggravation,
For Oak's words are hard to understand.
Now words spark my imagination.
His motion adding power to his main theme.
And its battle with the stars.
How the oak can make them all alive.
The stares twinkle, "Sky is ours!!!"
As the sun allows rays to run.
Seeking its advantage in numbers.
Still the sun with all its power shone
Victory, before, it remembers
As the stars always succumb to light.
Their blood bleeding purple into the sky.
The sun shines over the land in triumph,
Yet it bores and soon away some rays fly.
The ball of light leaves something new to see.
They appear as the sun disappears.
Joyful for the time to shimmer.
They know the morning will bring their fears,
For the sun will want the sky turned blue.
While the Willows sing their song of light.
Days pass as the story is told,
And I see the stars with all their fright.
They shutter at the thought of the bright sun of glory.
Realizing that much time has passed.
I get up and leave the oak at peace.
I smile and feel all relaxed
Now I turn and say good-bye, so he could see.
Over my head splendidly
Fluttering my fingers fluidly all the way.
Oak lowers indebtedly
Leaves shuttering with emotion.
"Good-bye, Oak, talk again for a long while."
I say with great admiration
While deep down inside I cry, thinking,
"To get true purification,
You must listen slowly for a while."
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Rainy Day
The clouds cried today in many ways
The clouds I see are grand,
The sorrow of the clouds is joy for other,
The web of nature weaves its quilt
The life seeps from the quilt to the ground
Sometimes I wish my life were that way.
Yet rain does seem to wash away my sorrow.
Here I amble all soaking wet today,
Written by L. S. Greger
Leaving the earth a formless pool
To be formed again in sundry ways.
Some people found the day so cruel.
As for me, I relish rainy days.
Floating cotton balls on the sky,
Yet for some reason, the clouds have sorrow.
They let it build up as they fly,
Until they let them land.
As the sorrow washes away the dirt and grime
Leaving the earth to begin anew.
The fragrance of freshness returns another time.
The bliss of nature spins for one another.
Turning the sorrow into life.
The method of nature's quilt quite simple,
It removes the blackness with strife
While giving the life to the silt.
And is given to the plants to imbibe,
For the plants need life more than all others.
What is left is used to let the dirt thrive
Created again with new forms found.
I could just let sorrow wash grime away.
Letting my soul take new forms.
That's why I walk out on a rainy day.
Does it work? Well, I really can't say.
When the clouds turn blue, my spirits rise,
For I fell the joy of life flowing.
From the grass, I hear their mirthful cries,
And I feel soil forming anew for tomorrow.
Yet no sorrow cries from me.
The clouds have taken sorrow away from me.
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Fool
I realized a while ago that I was a fool
I saw the fall leaves just the other day.
Looking back I never did realized the beauty,
Sometimes I wish my leaf were not so colored,
A lone tear fell down my face, because it seemed fit,
Written by L. S. Greger
Floating on a funny little wind called life.
I felt as though I was an autumn leaf.
My fall colors glided along with small strife.
The wind of life may flow at times so very cruel.
The wind of existence guided them in simple designs.
The gold, red, and yellow symbolized personalities
Mixed together randomly crossing the various lifelines.
The vortex twisted leaves a many ways.
And the symbols of the event at that time
In the gust of air on that autumn breeze.
Now, the symbols of beauty come back in rhyme,
Whistling in my mind becoming reality.
Or I wished that my gold sparkles more,
And sometimes I wish my red was not quite so crimson,
Yet I live my leaf ever more.
My green leaf stays in the dead past so checkered
Yet that's the only sorrow I shed.
The past is full of regrets, and that is where they stay,
Carried away on the wind that said,
" The only way to enjoy life, is to live it"
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